


Passion Play

by AmorousGreen



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmorousGreen/pseuds/AmorousGreen
Summary: Buffy is dreaming. Or is she?Companion piece toPassion-Ruled.
Relationships: Angel/Buffy Summers, Angelus (BtVS)/Buffy Summers
Kudos: 24





	Passion Play

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Passion-Ruled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788711) by [AmorousGreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmorousGreen/pseuds/AmorousGreen). 



Buffy is dreaming, and oh but it’s a good dream.

Angel is with her, his lips on her neck and his hands in her hair. His gentle voice murmurs words of love as his touch coaxes her body to wakefulness, her every nerve humming with desire.

Buffy is dreaming. Or is she?

Cool hands cup her bare breasts. She can feel the press of his arousal where his hips hover over hers. (This feels too real to be a dream, but then again it wouldn’t be the first time her Angel dreams have come with surround-sound-level detail.) Instinctively she bucks up against him, and cannot help the needy moan that spills from her lips.

If this is a dream, she doesn’t want to wake.

She lets her eyes open, and smiles at the sight of him illuminated by the moonlight spilling in her bedroom window. He is bare-chested, kneeling over her, undisguised longing in his eyes.

She reaches out and pulls him down more fully on top of her. She wants to feel that hard male body close against her, the weight of him pressing her into the bed. Her legs straddle one of his, and she grinds against it, unselfconsciously riding his thigh, desperate to soothe the hungry ache in her core. She is soaking through her panties and it’s all for him. She wants more contact, more friction, more of everything. And why shouldn’t she?

He certainly doesn’t seem to object to her wanton behavior. On the contrary, he pushes his thigh more firmly between hers, giving her more leverage to rock against while he bends to kiss along her collarbone.

She nearly arches off the bed when he moves to suck her nipple into his mouth. “Angel,” she mewls.

His eyes go cold and hard in an instant. There’s a flash of rage across his expression before he composes himself and a sadistic smirk takes its place.

A chill runs through her, recognition dawning even before he speaks. “Guess again, Buff,” Angelus says.

She freezes in horror, looking frantically about for escape though she knows there is none. Dimly she feels certain that this is all her fault, though she cannot think what her crime had been. (Was it so wrong to feel herself secure in her own house, in her own bed, or to have forgotten in the sanctuary of sleep that her love is gone?)

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she bursts out, and bites back a wince at how shrill her voice sounds. (It’s a valid question, surely. She doesn’t understand any of this. He’s made it abundantly clear that he despises her, that she is nothing to him. So what is he doing in her bed? Why does he have her pyjama shirt off, and why had he been looking at her with such heat in his eyes, and why can she still feel him hard against her?)

“Hush, lover.” He presses a finger to her lips. “Wouldn’t want to wake mummy dearest, now would you?” he mocks, and her vision goes red.

But the most humiliating part is, none of the rage and horror she’s feeling do a thing to lessen her arousal.

This isn’t a dream, it’s a nightmare. Only it’s not that either because she can’t wake.


End file.
